


Marks

by acaseofthemondays



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix It Fic, Gendrya - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 14:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20341285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaseofthemondays/pseuds/acaseofthemondays
Summary: Post series finale of GoT, fix-it fic. In which Gendrya is a thing that has no expiration date.





	Marks

**Author's Note:**

> This tiny ficlet was inspired by [this post](https://maisie-w.tumblr.com/post/185109075293/arya-stark-and-gendry-baratheon-in-the-iron-throne) on tumblr.

Her hands slip to his shoulders, her nails dig into his flesh as she comes apart on top of him, and for days afterwards he bears the mark of her clawing his skin. He misses the marks when they fade, the evidence of his wild wolf girl now just a memory. He misses them and then he aches for them when she gently turns down his proposal.

The next time he sees her, he bears her marks again, sewn into his clothes, tufts of grey wolf fur peeking through the jagged edges. His body is still, he sits like a Lord now, tightly contained and fine polished. But his eyes still burn like a blacksmiths. He doesn’t even flinch when their eyes meet, just the once, during the proceedings of succession and retribution. They are both so very still in that moment, but his eyes scream out to her.

_ You have marked me. You have marked me. I am yours. _

Her eyes say nothing in return, she is too well trained to let the wolf slip out unless she wants it to, and the moment passes.

It’s not until she steps down from the dais with an artful twirl of her cloak that he sees the flash of Baratheon black and yellow at her hip. He feels like he’s swallowed a piece of the sun. She doesn’t desire to be his wife, that hasn’t changed, and her eyes aren’t releasing any of their secrets today, but she wears his colors on a dagger at her hip. It’s not lost on him that she’s turned his mark on  _ her _ into a weapon. He likes that, has always liked the beautiful brutality she possesses.

He doesn’t see her again for nearly a decade. She walks into his hall at Storm's End, still small, still brutal, and glowing like the sun that still burns in his belly.

His body becomes a testament to the wolf for decades, thereafter. Every weapon she carries bears the black and yellow, each made by his hands over the many years. The blades he gives her always perfectly balanced for her hand, always true.

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, sews them a new banner herself. A stag and wolf rear up on hind legs, back to back, one elegant, one fierce, on a blazing field of black and yellow. She sends a direwolf pup when their first and only child is born. Arya names the pup Nymeria. The babe she names Syrio.

Arya teaches their son how to dance and turn away Death. Gendry teaches the boy to always say yes to his mother. They are both wise, well-learned teachers.

Their marriage is considered unconventional and, perhaps, not entirely legal. And certainly not very holy, as they had not requested the permission or blessing of either the Old Gods or the New. Arya Stark knows only one God, and Death has no place at a wedding. Gendry knows only one God, and She is his lady.

They prosper, their kingdom prospers, their child grows strong and bright and clever and kind.

And they bear each other’s marks unto Death.


End file.
